


the meaning of the word

by HakureiRyuu



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Disabled Hordak, Fluffy Ending, Gen, Light Angst, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018) Season 5 Spoilers, The Cycle of Abuse, psa i didn't know i needed but miss me with that hordak apologism okay, that's not what I wrote this for, you can ship entrapdak or read it as gen idc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24373804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HakureiRyuu/pseuds/HakureiRyuu
Summary: "So are we all, just, like... okay with this?"As it turned out, some of them were not.
Relationships: Adora & Hordak (She-Ra), Entrapta/Hordak (She-Ra)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 356





	the meaning of the word

**Author's Note:**

> i am losing my dang mind at canon catradora and consuming fluff at a wild pace, yet THIS is the first thing i write myself. go figure. XD

There is a tribunal ‒ the first of its kind, by Hordak’s understanding. The runestone princesses preside, with representatives of all the other kingdoms among them. All votes are equal, but the princesses may overturn a majority if they are unanimous. Various generals and other high-ranking rebellion officers are also in attendance.

Hordak is not permitted to listen to them deliberate, which in its way is a relief. He has quite had his fill of endless droning voices dictating his fate.

Instead, he waits in Bright Moon’s spare room (they had ceased bothering to insist it was a cell), comfortable on a plush armchair that is not unlike his throne in the Fright Zone. There are no shackles, no whispering hive mind drowning out his thoughts. It is dark, but only because talks have gone on well into the evening, and the barrier spell set by King Micah himself provides enough illumination for him.

He’d never been fond of harsher lights, even before Prime arrived.

It is tempting to laugh at the sheer farce of it all. Etherians seem to have no concept of criminal law. Troublemakers are simply banished to the Crimson Wastes, and even they form a fairly civil society among themselves, despite being left completely to their own devices. They don’t even raid neighboring kingdoms, only one another.

A being like Hordak is on an entirely different level than petty thieves and ruffians, and everyone knows it.

He wonders what they will decide to do with him, if not the Wastes. Perhaps he is to spend the rest of his life here in this room. Knowing the Etherians, they will probably even give him books to read, devices to tinker with. Certainly they would let Entrapta visit as often as she wants.

The tall doors unlock with a heavy sound of metal on metal.

Adora steps in ‒ not She-Ra, just Adora. The doom he found in a field and brought home in his arms. She looks tired.

“There were a lot of voices for execution,” she tells him without preamble, “but the final verdict was life in prison.”

Hordak raises an eyebrow, chin propped on his fist. “I’m surprised you Etherians even thought of that. You all seem to loathe getting your hands dirty.”

Her face hardens. “Believe me, it was a narrow margin that saved you.”

“Doubtless Entrapta was the deciding vote.”

“Catra, actually,” she says, and Hordak startles. 

When the shock passes, he swallows and says, “I was unaware she had a vote at all.”

Adora averts her eyes, abashed. “Well, no, but you know how she is when she has something to say.”

“Indeed. Fear of punishment just makes her louder.”

A small snort escapes Adora, and he can see the corners of her mouth twitching even as she tries to remain stoic. Hordak abruptly finds himself in completely unfamiliar territory. Commiserating with his enemy about a ‒ hmm. About a _mutual acquaintance._ It even feels somewhat fond. Who would have thought.

“A-anyway,” she continues, regaining her composure, “what I mean to say is. She spoke up for you. Seemed to sway a lot of people.”

Hordak wonders what she said, and simultaneously resolves never to ask. The tentative smile Catra had expressed when she happened upon his post on Prime’s ship was... more than enough of that.

Adora fidgets at his lack of a response, because her discomfort with silence clearly hasn’t changed. Hordak wonders if her constant wailing as an infant was an indicator of that.

“Is there something you want me to say?” He scowls. “Some expression of gratitude, perhaps? It won’t be forthcoming, least of all to Catra. She made me believe Entrapta betrayed me. I tried to kill her for that, and I can’t honestly say I wouldn’t do it again.”

The girl bristles, her hands curling into fists. "After everything that happened to the two of you, everything you both suffered, _that’s_ your answer?”

Hordak lifts his chin, and says nothing.

Adora’s eyes tick between both of his, considering. “Let me ask you this, then,” she begins, tone still dangerously low. “If you were released today, to do whatever you want, would you start the war all over again?”

He doesn’t hesitate in answering ‒ he has already long pondered that very question. “Everything I did, I did to prove my worth to someone who no longer matters.”

It is answer enough. The truth is, he is not strong enough to fight any of them ‒ he never was. That was his ultimate illusion, his greatest lie. The whole of his hold on power relied on hiding his broken parts, reinforcing his failing body with armor and machines, foul-tasting chemicals and radiation that made him sick. Anything he ever used to compensate for his weakness can be given or taken by his captors. He knows he has no power anymore, but even if he did... 

Even if he did want power again, maintaining that lie to keep it was fucking _exhausting._

Adora nods, just once, like he has confirmed something for her. “It ever occur to you that Catra could say the same?”

Hordak breathes out, slowly. It did occur to him. He’s the one who held her down in the water, after all, pitiless as she screamed, drowning in Prime’s light just as he had before her.

It was a command he couldn’t disobey. Prime drowns Hordak, Hordak drowns Catra ‒ so it continues. 

Of course he knows.

After a moment, Adora seems to deflate. All of her weariness is back, from the bags under her eyes to the curve of her shoulders, tired down to her bones. She turns to go.

But self-control has never been Hordak’s strong suit. She makes it as far as the door before the question leaps from him. “Why would your princesses listen to her? She is no less guilty than I am, has no less blood on her hands!”

Adora levels a glare at him. “Her destiny doesn’t concern you anymore.”

“That is not what I asked! Why would your rulers take one criminal’s advice on what should be done with another?”

She considers that for a long moment, then shrugs, one hand on the half-open door. “Mercy, I expect.” 

A stab of panic shoots through him, and he stands abruptly, heart racing. Adora, already halfway out the door, turns to stare at him, and a few guards rush into place behind her.

“You _dare_ talk to me of _mercy,_ foolish girl?” he hisses, pounding one hand on the magical barrier keeping him trapped. “Prime was _merciful,_ always, and I ‒ I want no part in it!”

Adora’s mouth makes a small _oh_ of comprehension, and she waves the guards away. Leaving the door open, she walks slowly toward him, hands out and empty, until they are face to face. She is looking at him with something infuriatingly like pity.

“Hordak,” she says, _so_ gently, “that’s not what mercy means.”

His rapid breathing slows, but only just, and his pulse still beats a rapid tattoo under his ribcage.

“It’s okay,” Adora tells him, open and honest. “I had to unlearn stuff like this when I left the Horde, too.”

‒

The next day, Hordak is informed that they are sending him to Dryl.

The armored skiff is Horde-made, one of the only vehicles able to travel the distance at speed, driven and escorted by a squadron of Bright Moon palace guards. Hordak does not fight them, and not just because he physically cannot.

Are they really letting him live out his life with Entrapta?

Knowing what he does of Etherians, Hordak supposed he ought to have expected this. Yet some part of him cannot help but disbelieve. 

Entrapta. Utterly unintimidated, endlessly curious... It hasn’t been that long since he last saw her, he knows. After Prime's ghost was driven from his mind by Light of an entirely different sort, the first thing he felt with total clarity was Entrapta's fervent embrace, clutching his hand and dragging him around to show him this or that with boundless enthusiasm. Her joy upon Hordak’s return was unquantifiable, overwhelming in a way that Prime’s deadly tranquility never was.

Odd, how it hadn’t even occurred to him to run, even then.

The Whispering Woods outside the windows give way to craggy cliffs, unnoticed by the vehicle’s inhabitant. Even in a skiff, the journey takes some time, and Hordak finds himself going over every single memory. 

There are holes, still. Prime took so much away. The broad strokes remain ‒ fearlessness, wonder, brilliance...

Acceptance.

_Your imperfections are beautiful!_

He touches the crest of his chest, where the chip Entrapta had given him once resided. He doesn't have it anymore, what with First Ones tech being too dangerous to leave in the hands of a former warlord, no matter how sentimental. Even if he did, he no longer wears armor to compensate for his body's weaknesses. All of Hordak's flaws are his own to keep.

The skiff comes to a halt, as does Hordak’s breath in his chest. One of the guards has to open the door to release him, as he cannot seem to bring himself to move.

The resulting stream of sunlight into the dark of the skiff’s interior is... warm.

Hordak steps out with some difficulty, keeping a tight grasp of the handrails as he lowers himself down. He looks around at his new home.

Dryl is not so much a kingdom as a tiny city nestled into a mountain pass. It’s walls are high, imposing ‒ familiar, in their way. Hordak has a vague memory of leading an army through these mountains, the shortest route to Thaymore. 

The number of Dryl’s living inhabitants can be counted on one hand, and Hordak sees none of them here.

He looks around. “Where is...”

“Hi Hordak!” a familiar voice shouts, followed by the distinctive bang of metal parts crashing to the floor. The front door of the keep bursts open, and Entrapta ‒ having apparently dropped whatever she was doing ‒ lopes across the courtyard to tackle him around the middle.

Hordak realizes he is smiling.

“I’m so glad you came!” she speaks into his chest, as though there were any doubt. Then she extricates herself and chatters excitedly, bouncing on the ends of her pigtails. “I’ve been redesigning the whole castle! All the corridors have handrails now, and I knocked out a bunch of the maze walls and replaced them with holograms of walls so there are shorter routes between rooms that only we know about! I’m also working on an electric chair that can carry a person up the sides of the staircases. I’ve already tried the prototype, and it’s a lot of fun to ride!”

Entrapta grins widely at him, and grabs his hand to gently tug him inside, taking no note at all of the guards that station themselves at the keep’s doors. There are fewer of them than he expected, at least that he’s seen so far.

Inside, scattered along the bottom of the grand staircase, there is indeed a padded chair toppled onto the ground, along with a set of rails going up the stairs, and various tools and discarded parts lying around.

“C’mon,” says Entrapta, tugging his hand. “My lab is upstairs, but we can take the elevator in the back. It’s the only one right now, but I’ll build more.”

Then she considers something and, without letting go of him, she scoops up several tools and what looks like an encryption pad with her hair. Only then does she take note of one of the guards.

“Hey,” she tells the guard, propelling herself over and dumping the scrap into the startled man’s arms. “Can you have this delivered to engineering? Ask one of the bots if you don’t know where it is.”

“Uhh...”

“Thanks!” she chirps, and bounces away, dragging Hordak in her wake.

Keeping up with Entrapta is challenging, but not impossible. Her grip is firm and supportive if he stumbles, and it doesn't interrupt them at all. Along the way she chatters excitedly about modifications she has planned for her primary laboratory, moving work stations around so that Hordak can reach any part of them if he needs to sit down. 

“I wanted to start on that part right away, but figured it would be more useful to get your input first. Just wait til you see it!”

Hordak tries to follow the thread of conversation, the melody of her many ideas, but finds himself highly distracted by the warm feeling blossoming in his chest.

And to think he thought what he felt for Horde Prime was love. He hadn’t known the meaning of the word.

Looking at Entrapta’s earnest face now, it occurs to Hordak that, perhaps, he still doesn’t.

But as she leads him by the hand through a labyrinth of her own design, excitedly pointing out security cameras or specific rooms, not at all put out by dead ends she forgot were there, he thinks that it is something he would like to learn.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading, and pls comment!


End file.
